You must type at least 1,000 words

“The first challenge every pro writer must face is deadlines,”

After class, Professor Markle put an inbox in the assignment tab and a description. “The most common excuse I here from aspiring writers who never have anything on their paper is that they don’t have the time. Between classes, supporting the family, a full-time job and kids, I can’t make it happen every day. I had all of these things before I was 30, and I made it happen.”

Here he goes again with the gloating. “This assignment is a contest. Write a short story about a time, real or not, when you did something even if time was not a luxury you had. I’m giving you seven days to write this. Though it's short, I want to savor them, so I think you should write at least a thousand words.” I cleaned the blur off my screen with a cloth. I really have to clean this computer.

1000 words ain’t shit. When under one of my trances, I could pump out twice the amount without it being trash that I need to revise. Didn’t sound like a daunting assignment to me. I went to the gym. I drove my Kia home. I ate my spaghetti leftovers and made a plot pyramid. It admittedly took some time to get some inspiration. I was not a tardy kid in primary school, nor a woman prone to excuses for things I set out to do. So, I delved into Steins Gate, Wrinkle in Time, Back to the Future. My story’s word count would barely pass the limit this time. I wanted to challenge myself with the meaning of the word “short.”

I got it.

Here is the plot: A boy has a crush on a girl in school. He’s had this crush for years and on a fateful Friday, decides he’s going to confess that afternoon after school. 1.8 seconds after the bell, a UFO beam attacks the school. 3.14 minutes after that, the military teleports into the building with laser rifles and an all-out battle begins. 17 ½ minutes later, God decides he’s had enough of humanity and opens an eddy in the Pacific Ocean strong enough to drown the planet from the inside. First to go are the seas, next the Earth and plants. Then, clean oxygen. The ensuing chaos started forest fires because pandemonium mode be pandemoniuming. Despite reality collapsing before their eyes, the boy whispers four words to the girl’s face: “I’ve always loved you.”

Le fin. The end. It gets crazy, but it’s new. I don’t typically do crazy, so it’s a start. I scripted a schedule on Microsoft Outlook. Two and fifty will be put into the story every day. It’s not a lot, but a thousand words ain’t a lot, so there won’t be a problem. I can easily have enough time to maintain my straight A’s in my other classes with this plan. Fine by me. Slow and steady was the mindset proven to win a true contest, evidenced by the good old tortoise and hare tale.

I acclimated to my routine perfectly. I had the white light of my Acer Chromebook on my face every 6am in the morning. I started at 7am with a pat to the back, next a sexy shower to keep on track, then breakfast, and finally work at Dillards. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday passed. I made Saturday a cheat day and binged Umbrella Academy in its place. I was already past the word count at a thousand one and fifty-two, and Saturday was my day off. No worries was my slogan today.

I was starting the last season when I got a call from my homegirl. She shared the same class and the same assignment by proxy. She was the opposite of an early bird, so I figured the midterm would come easier. I picked up the phone.

“Hey, Sammy,” I greeted. “You writin'?”

“Yeah…” she hesitated. “Whether or not it's anything but slop is a mystery.”

“It’s better than you think.”

“I read somewhere that people aren’t too objective about the products curated by their close friends.”

I rolled my eyes. “If you say so.”

“Hey. You got your story ready for tomorrow yet?”

“Oh yeah. It was easy as pie, barely a midterm in my opinion. All I needed to do was set a daily quota and follow it. I’m gonna ace it, no problem.”

“Speak for yourself, girl. We can’t all crank out 5,000 words in a week.”

“5,000 what?”

“5,000 words. We had to write at least 5,000 words. That’s what the syllabus said.”

“Quit playing. I read it the moment I left class, and it said to write at least 1,000 words.”

“He changed it before midnight. Don’t you remember? He said he was going to modify the assignment before midnight.”

Without delay. The panicking began. Dead air was on the phone for eighteen seconds. My body needed to regain its voice, and Sammy was gracious enough to wait for it to return.

“What crackhead-ass barbarous madman wakes up and decides to give a 7,500-word assignment that needs to be done in a week to full-time college students?! Is he even human?!”

“Hey Lala, remember. No excuses. He said he able to write a story that long with a full set AND kids.” Sammy laughed. “Double check canvas next time. Check it every day you can.

“Uh-huh. Right. Yeah,” I muttered. I didn’t want to talk anymore. “Hey, let’s talk after I unscrew myself out this mess, capeech?”

“Sure, you’re gonna need time. But don’t kill yourself.” I hung up. I’m glad I picked up the phone. If not for her, I’d have sent a joke to class.

“I’ve got six thousand words to type in two days. Lord, please have mercy,” I paced back and forth in my room. “No problem. Just three thousand words today, and three thousand words tomorrow. It’s ok. I have the power of the zone on my side. Once I get it, the typing won’t stop until the job’s done. I got this.” And then, another number appeared on my phone. It was my boss.

“Please, sir, put someone else on the clock,” I begged. “I know tomorrow’s Black Friday, and that we're understaffed, but I made a huge goof. I have two days to write six thousand words and somehow make it better than slop. I’m gonna be gassed after twelve hours of waiting on customers.” My boss could not be reasoned with. Tomorrow, I have to put on my uniform and wait for most likely hundreds of customers at the cash register from 9:00 am to 7:00 pm. But it wasn’t so bad. Crunch time isn’t new to me. After I get home, I’d have more than four hours to write, revise, and submit the story.

I exercised my diligence with an itinerary. For the rest of my day off, I worked on the draft. I cleared 3000 words in five hours, the words overflowing from the keyboard like a waterfall. I had the optimal music, setting, and cup of coffee to set the ambience. The first 90 minutes required me to rework the story and make it serviceable enough to last more than 1000 words, and to be interesting enough for people to read beyond 1000 words. After that, I got to the actual writing. My strategy was the sprint technique. 30 minutes will go into writing, then a five-minute break. Repeat this plan of attack until your stopwatch surpasses 120 minutes or success is reached. My critique reviewed the draft and graded it satisfactory for the night, so I took a shower and went to bed at 11:00 pm. I had quite a day tomorrow. The more sleep I get, the smoother the shift in hell will be tomorrow.

I had warped in my car as the clock struck seven. I raced past the lights. I rolled through the stop signs. My speedometer was dialed ten clicks above the limit. Lucky me, the police were on a smoke break. I parked and rolled out the driver’s seat. I was a quarterback with an Acer Chromebook, and the thirty-hundred-word quota was the goalpost. No food. No YouTube. All typing. All night. To the front door, to the hallway, and to the computer room. I locked in. I had already had the moot set preemptively.

It was 7:49 pm as I started. 8:52 pm by the time I reached 1100. 9:49 pm by the time I reached 2200. 10:43, and I finally had 3000! “Yes!” I exclaimed. My eyes had cowbells weighing them down. Still, I made a return and read over my story, adding some grammatical patches here and there. My inner critique looked at me and gave me a thumbs up. So, to celebrate at 11:00, I grabbed me a Coca-Cola to celebrate and I shut the laptop to give my eyes a break and I blinked—

Slobber was on my cheek. I picked my face off the desk. Coca-Cola was spilled on the carpet. Shit.

I probed for the clock. 11:52 and counting. All it takes is eight minutes. The agony in my hands would be worth the wind. I suffocated from the urge to rip my face off. Gotta lock in, gotta lock in, gotta lock in. I struck the laptop. It got the memo and booted up. 11:53. I finally made it to the desktop. 11:54. I flashed to Google, then the school website. 11:55. I entered my username and password. 11:56, I made it to the Canvas inbox. 11:57. I rushed my reflection. 11:58. My asinine computer decides now to have a brain freeze. 11:59. I opened the attachment and found the document. Send.

12:00 am on the dot. “Congratulations, Lala Kamara,” read the screen. Little icons of raining penguins and watermelons showered my vision. Yeah, I think I’m worthy of those things after the clutch I pulled off. The temples of my fingers ached so much they deserved ice packs. Actually, you know what, that’s a great idea. I left my room, found the freezer and shoved my head inside of it. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” I said to myself, basking in its coolness. Tonight, I think I can exercise a little slothfulness with this class tomorrow. I know what I sent is worth a good read. I answered the vibration in my pocket.

“So..” Sammy said.

“So, I am absolutely quadruple-checking the syllabus every time we get homework.”

“…I bet. I can already see your glasses pressed up against the font. I submitted mine like an hour ago,” Sammy chuckled. “Were you able to clutch up?”

“The best I could,” I sighed. “It’s 7582 words. Barely past the limit like I wanted.”

“You better dm it to me tonight. I don’t want anyone ripping your masterpiece a new hole before I do.”

“I welcome it. Do your worst,” I challenged. “And you send me yours too, so I can return the favor. If we're gonna be the next Octavia Butler, it seems we're to acclimate shooting these pseudo-novellas out like automatics. Gonna need all the criticism we can get.”

“No disagreements here,” Sammy said. After work, I had a lunch date with Sammy at her house the next day, talking creative writing until the clock hit midnight.